“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he says, opening each of the tiny Tupperware bins he’s laid out with a pop. “—about Devon.”
My pulse does the double Dutch at the mention of her name, but Kevin’s tone tells it to settle the hell down.
“What about Devon?” I rip off a hunk of soft pretzel, count the salt flecks.
Kevin looks around like he’s about to tell me the code for a nuclear missile launch. I follow his gaze to the bistro line, where Meredith waits in her white coat, her hands flitting around like humming birds as she chats with Dr. Asario, a senior pathologist.
“Mer would kill me if she knew this,” Kev murmurs, “—but the night you had to stay at the hospital—” He lets out a long breath and looks down at the slices of cheese in one of his bins. He’s got a goddamned charcuterie in front of him.
I want to interrupt him. Make him feel better, because I know what he’s about to say—have known for some time. But it seems like he wants to get this out on his own, so I roll the pretzel between my fingers into a ball and wait.
“I got your message—that night,” he breathes. “I got it and I didn’t tell Devon and–”
“I know.”
His eyes widen. “You know?”
I nod.
“Come on, Kev. You never miss a call. You’re one of the most attentive, committed doctors I’ve ever met.”
He shakes his head a little. The flush creeping up his neck stretches upward.
“I’m so sorry, man. I’m an ass. I’ve loved Devon from the moment she hit me in the testicles with a cornhole bag—but when I saw her have that panic attack and realized I’d caused it?—”
It’s like every cell in Kevin’s body deflates at once. His shoulders fall, his neck seems unable to withstand the weight of his head. I want to tell him that I get it. Love makes us do stupid shit. But he holds up a hand before I can speak and says, “That’snot love. You don’t hurt the people you love like that. Lie to them. Withhold the truth at their expense?—”
“What are you two morons talking about?” Mer asks, plopping her wrapped sandwich onto the table between us. She looks at Kevin and narrows her eyes as he stares down at his fig spread. “You’re talking about Devon aren’t you?”
I’m suddenly very hungry. I take a huge bite of the pretzel.
“Were you asking Kev why she’s ghosting you?”
Kevin gives Mer the look that I give to Jenny whenever I want her to butt the hell out of my business. Meredith ignores him and hones in on me.
“Listen, Jeff. As much as this all started with the ‘Great Sex Scare of 2025’—”
I choke a little on the doughy part of the pretzel.
“The great what?”
“—the situation has—evolved.” Meredith points a finger and flicks her wrist making a little cyclone. I glance at Kevin for a translation.
“It’s the time of year,” he adds. “Devon always goes underground in November.”
I imagine the glorious little shed having a trapdoor and Devon descending into a bunker with the chickens marching after her in a straight line.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“November 9this the anniversary of her dad’s death,” Kevin says quietly.
And there goes all the air in the room. And with it, my self-respect. I’m such an idiot. “An arrogant, prick,” in Devon’s words. Here I am obsessing, making this whole situation about me, and she’s in pain—mucking through her grief, completely and utterly alone.
“Don’t start beating yourself up about it, Jeffery.” Meredith sticks a bony elbow into my flank. “She wouldn’t want that.Which is why she goes off the grid—to avoid that look on your face.”
I fix my face and pretend to listen to Kevin and Meredith as they argue about whether or not to go to the Eagle’s game on Sunday, their words drifting past me with the buzz of conversation in the busy cafeteria. I even nod and smile when they direct some of those words at me.
But I don’t stop thinking about her.
